


The Forgotten

by Xaire



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaire/pseuds/Xaire
Summary: Two struggling former-Decepticons try to cope with living in a world where they are despised.





	1. Chapter 1

Deadwind and Manifold were perched on the edge of an overpass suspended high above the ghettos of Vos. Deadwind, an old and slender black-and-purple bot with piercing red eyes and broad shoulders, leaned against the beam railing that separated him and his Mini-con from the metallic street that swarmed with bots in alt-form that sped towards the darkening West. Clutched in one metallic fist was a rusted can of Energon which the larger bot casually sipped from every fifteen minutes or so. His searchlight eyes skimmed the star littered skies. His gaze fell on the two moon bases that circled close to Cybertron. Tonight they took the form of slim crescents that protruded needle-like spires and towers that reached into the void. They almost looked like giant, airborne cities, balled up and cast into space. Hell, Deadwind was so overcharged that he could have sworn that that was what they really were.

Manifold, a tiny silver Mini-Con that barely stood at eye level with his partner's knee-caps, stared in the opposite direction toward the sparkling buildings below as his dangling feet swung back and forth through the air. Manifold, a couple of times, leaned so far to get a look at the scene below that he almost seemed as if he would fall and hit the shrapnel littered streets below. Deadwind, in most cases, would snap at the child-like Mini-Con, telling him to keep his ass on the railing, but Deadwind, for one was too damn plastered to actually notice. Plus, he trusted the tyke. He was smart and tough, something that was very rare amongst Mini-Cons. Manifold would know not to let himself fall. If by some slim chance Manifold did fall, he would just hit the street or some roof and walk away with barely a hydraulics leak. Besides, Primus knows he's been put through a hell of a lot worse during the Great Cybertronian Civil War.

Yes, they were Decepticons, born and bred, but they moved on long ago. Now they were nothing more than a couple of homeless bums who managed to get by on whatever they could get their hands on. How they ended up the way they were they had no clue. They just knew they were poor and living in a society that still hated Decepticons. Without a place to live, they simply wandered Cybertron. They've been to both poles, Altihex, Tarn, Kalos and anywhere where Cybertronian Transformers could lay down their head to recharge. Eventually, though, they had to settle, so they chose Vos, a city second only to Kaon in crapiness. They lost contact with the remaining few Decepticons long ago, so all they had now were each other. They struggled, but supplying themselves with Energon was the least of their problems.

Since the end of the war, Autobots and Decepticons tried to set aside their differences, but the bad blood never stopped boiling. Almost by programming, the two factions continued to go at each other's throats. Every other day it seemed as if the news was surging with another story about another former Autobot murdered by a former Decepticon or vice versa. Deadwind could almost laugh at how childish the Cybertronian race was if he had not already suffered some of this discrimination himself. On more instances than he could count, Deadwind had gotten into fight with a pissed off Autobot who came out of a bar or a dark alley and started spewing insults at him. Normally he'd just knock the shit out of these bots and move on, but the few times they decided to pick on Manifold, Deadwind actually resorted to tearing off limbs. Civilized? Absolutely not, but Manifold is and always was a little brother to him, and Deadwind would much rather die than allow some sorry fuck to screw with his only living brother.

Deadwind's drunken pondering was cut short when someone passing behind them hurled an empty Visco can at him, striking him in the back of the skull. Adding to the sudden offense, the assailant (for lack of a better word) yelled, "Fuck you, Decepti-creep!" as he sped away in alt-form. Deadwing snapped his head in the direction of the fleeing Autobot (or at least Deadwind thought it was an Autobot), and was only able to catch a glimpse of the quickly receding taillights. His eyes narrowed and a scowl stretched across his face as he imagined ways to enact revenge.

"Just ignore him, Bro." Manifold suddenly squeaked, his optics still glued to the scene below. "We've been through this enough times to know that it's not worth fighting over."

There was a drawn out silence as Deawind continued to stare in the direction in which the Autobot vanished. Deadwind then turned his head towards Manifold's wide-eyed gaze "Yeah. I suppose your right." Deadwind admitted in a low growl.

"You want to go find some odd-jobs? Get some cash, maybe some Energon?" Manifold suggested.

"I think we've got enough."

"Do we?"

Deadwind popped open his chest compartment and rummaged around inside, eventually pulling out five different sized Energon coins that dimly glowed in his hand. He shuffled a finder over the pile, seemingly to count them. After a brief pause, Deawind gazed forward towards the million little lights of Vos.

"Well?" Manifold asked impatiently.

"We don't have enough." Deadwind grumbled.

Manifold sighed and stood up, balancing himself on the edge of the overpass until he could grab hold of the railing. "Why don't we see if we can find a quick job to do or something? If that fails, we can always beg?"

Deadwind didn't seem to register the question. He seemed as if he was meditating or lost somewhere in the scary little world in his mainframe. "Let's go to Iacon." Deadwind suggested out of the blue.

Manifold was astonished. Iacon was the city of the elites and home of Cybertron's governing body. That place was about 99.99% Autobot and the last place two former Cons are supposed to be. Maybe it wasn't a suicide mission like the ones they've pulled off during the war, but if they wanted to feel more like vermin, than Iacon was the place to be. "You can't be serious." Manifold gasped.

"Why not?" Deadwind said while still staring into void. "Iacon is, after all, home of the 'Cybertronian Dream'."

Manifold instantly picked up on Deadwind's cynical display of sarcasm.


	2. Chapter 2

By next evening, the former Decepticon soldier and his Mini-Con were standing with their backs to the wall in a dimly lit alley branching off Third Street in Iacon. They were between a high-class art gallery and a boutique called Rosanna's. Across the street was the First National Bank of Cybertron, which appeared to be Deadwinds subject of interest. All day, bots of the Cybertronian high caste came to and fro, in and out the door and shuffling dollar bills that numbered in the thousands. All of them were clad in the fanciest pieces of decorative "kibble" Deadwind has ever seen. The casual and carefree way these sons of bitches carried their money was sickening to Deadwind. He hated them. They wallowed in their wealth and privilege while the former Decepticons starved in the ghettos and struggled to simply wake up in the morning. All the while the Autobots never payed any mind to their suffering. The Decepticons were promised equality, but instead they were simply forgotten.

Manifold, meanwhile, was just glad to be in Iacon. The city itself was immensely beautiful and the people seemed as if they would be nice to them if they weren't Decepticons. He looked upward at his big brother and saw that he was still staring at the bank, but Manifold no longer saw just loathing in Deadwind's eyes. He saw that Deadwind was planning; he was analyzing. Deadwind seemed to be studying the bank the same way he used to study his enemies during battle. Deawind was scouting for strengths, weaknesses, and a way to pull off his game plan. It didn't take long for Manifold to figure out what Deadwind was planning, and when he did, shock dawned on him.

"No" Manifold squeaked, looking up at Deadwind's cold face.

Deadwind regarded his old friend with a sad yet cold glance.

"I can't let you rob that bank." Manifold clarified.

"I Have to."

"We can get the money elsewhere; just please, don't do this."

"Manifold, you have to understand, I'm doing this for you. We need the money."

"You're not doing anything for me. I want to leave. Let's go back to Vos."

"Manifold…"

"I want to go back to Vos."

Deadwind said no more. He lifted the agitated Mini-Con off his feet and carried him deeper into the alley. The outside light quickly dimmed till they were in nearly pitch-black darkness.

"What are you doing?! Put me down!" Manifold shouted as he squirmed in Deadwind's grip. He kicked his legs against his brother's torso as he tried to pry away the hand locked around his. "What's wrong with you, man?!"

Deawind ignored the Mini-Con's cries and set him down behind an abandoned air conditioner that slumped like a dead body in the alley, using his mass to block Manifold's only escape route. Deadwind patiently waited for Manifold burn himself out. Eventually, Manifold eased himself and sat quietly in the darkness. His dim optics stared downward at the rust littered ground. Deadwing did nothing more than wait quietly for his brother to continue.

Silence dominated for minutes until Manifold whispered "I can't forgive you if you do this."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness." Deadwind responded. Then, with a smile, he said, "Besides, we've done worse."

Manifold looked up at his brother with sad optics. He opened his lips as if to say something and then shut them. Manifold curled up and leaned against the wall. He buried his face in his arms and said nothing more. Deadwing couldn't stand to see his little brother this way and resolved to leave him as quickly as possible. He desperately hoped to return alive and see him again, but he doubted that Primus would bless him with that little pleasure.

"At the end of the day, Manifold, I want you to buff off your Decepticon logo. You'll be much safer without it. Stay here." There was a pause before he said "I love you, bro." Those were Deadwind's final words to Manifold before he walked into the city streets and into the bank to perform one last deed.

Meanwhile, Manifold sat in the darkness behind the air conditioner, hoping for the best, but expecting the worse. In most cases, he would have faith in his brother, but not now. In this last and unsung battle, they were outnumbered one to ten-thousand. To rob the most prestigious bank in all of Cybertron was suicide. A crime like this against the state was one that the Autobot matriarchs deemed punishable by death. It's quite ironic, really, that the last two Decepticons would be mercilessly slain by an Autobot government when they once preached the beauty of mercy.

About a minute later, Manifold heard the muffled shouts of an aristocrat, "Hey! Get outta here you filthy piece of…!" The angry shouts were but short by the sounds of two laser shots that Manifold instantly recognized as Deadwind's twin rifles. The shots were followed by the sounds of screaming Autobots, which was a sound he used to enjoy, but now they struck him panic. More shots fired and less bots screaming. Deadwind was no longer just robbing a bank, he was committing a massacre. Terror gripped Manifold's spark as the thought of Deadwind's execution tugged again.

The bank sirens wailed, drowning out all thoughts and all external noises. Like an agonizing memo about the ultimate fate of the Decepticons the siren ripped through Manifolds head.

The sound of footsteps slowly emerged from the sea of sound and Manifold thought He's still alive! He's coming for me now! But Manifold didn't get the reunion he hoped for. Instead he was met with loud clank of a metal box as it came from nowhere and struck the wall. It came to rest behind the air conditioner and at Manifold's feet. Manifold saw a passing glance of Deadwind running down the alley and going into the street at the opposite end of the alley. He quickly assumed his tank form and sped away. Manifold, assuming that catching up with Deadwind was impossible, stayed where he was, frozen with fear. He peeked inside the box that Deadwind threw to him. He was astonished to find over thirty-thousand units of Cybertronian cash in the box. An entire vault cell, without a doubt.

Breaking Manifold's entrancement, three Elite Guard soldiers came running down the alley and into the street. They assumed their vehicle forms and followed the path Deadwind took.

The money didn't matter. Nothing did. Manifold forced himself back into reality and decided that he would try to find Deadwing again and die with him. Otherwise, he'd die without him. Manifold hid the box in an open vent in the air conditioner and followed Deadwind's path.

Without a real vehicle form of his own, Manifold ran and ran and ran. The world fell silent as he did the unthinkable and prayed to Primus for Deadwind to come back alive. The sidewalk was relatively clear save for a few astonished individuals who looked at the Mini-Decepticon in disgust. Manifold didn't care. His mind was focused solely on Deadwind.

Suddenly, a shot rang out. It was clear to Manifold that it wasn't one of Deadwind's rifles, but a military grade explosive-type weapon. Despite the cold and petrifying feeling that surged through his being, Manifold ran faster.

As the hour passed, Manifold came to a right-going side street where a mass of Autobots and first responders were faintly visible in the distance. He ran towards them, ever so slowly making out the blue and red color scheme of the Elite Guard. The smell of burned Energon wafted through the air as Manifold approached a few singed parts lying in a puddle of Energon. The bright blue stain in the steel-pavement dragged out and pointed to the crowd ahead like a trail. Along the way were bits and pieces of rivets, belts, diodes, gears, pins, wires and even a T-cog. Along the wreckage was the ghastly remains Deadwind's right tread-fender. His tattoos, although buried in Energon, stood out like the face of a dead bot. Manifold could no longer run. The weight of death was too damn heavy for him. He shuffled along the road, exhausted and in total angst, slowly approaching the crowd. All the non-officials slowly dispersed leaving a few street cops and the three Elite Guard soldiers that chased Deadwind. They circled around a heap of burned metal that spewed sparks and ghostly tendrils of smoke. Slowly, Manifold came closer and closer, until the sight before him forced him to his knees. There lied Deadwind, still and lifeless. Much of his legs were blown into oblivion and his right arm was completely gone. His chest compartment was ripped wide open, revealing the spark chamber that no longer pulsed. His head slumped aside, looking in Manifold's direction. Energon leaked out of his nose and mouth, pooling around his head. The eyes were no longer the piercing searchlights they were before. All they were now were two endless pits of black that once carried the brooding and deep-thinking soul of his brother.

Manifold tried, one last, desperate time, to convince himself that this wasn't real; that it was all just some fucked up nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

It was no nightmare, but Manifold couldn't help believing it was. He remained in constant denial, often believing that Deadwind will just show up, out of the blue and alive. He hoped that by some slim chance the butchered-up bot he saw a few days before was just a hapless stranger and that his brother was somewhere else, free and happy. But life isn't fair. The only thing that kept Manifold grounded in reality were the optics of that dead bot. He remembered every battle and every joyful moment he had with Deadwind when he looked into those dying optics. It was Deadwind's fading spark he saw in that final moment when the he looked into those black optics.

Manifold wondered how, if at all, he was going to live knowing he allowed his brother to die.

Manifold made off with the money and returned safely back to Vos. He made camp underneath the same bridge he and Deadwind sat on just a couple of days before. All around him was the same ghetto scene he gazed at before: the pieces of trash here and there, the poorly kept buildings, and the shady looking residence. This shit was his…their home.

In Manifolds arms was the vault cell Deadwind stole. He held it much like a youngling would hold his favorite toy with one hand wrapped around its bulk and the other planted on top. He leaned against a rusted pillar decorated all over with graffiti, including a Decepticon sigil drawn in transmission grease. Nearby, a junkie drug dealer4 sat on the sidewalk, blankly staring at the cryo-condors that flew overhead. Every so often he would stop staring and start harassing bystanders with his "discount" offer of dark energon. His interior radio blared Cybertronian R&B for a while until the 3:00 news come on and announced the latest:

"At 5:23pm, just two days ago, the First National Bank of Cybertron in Iacon was robbed by former Decepticon Targetmaster, Deadwind, who made off with almost thirty thousand currency units. At 6:01 the same day, the perpetrator was shot and killed by Elite Guard officers. Elite Guard Chief Officer Xaaron says that the money is yet to be found and is most likely hidden."

The news report was cut short when the drug dealer continued yelling "You some of this shit?! This DE? Only two hundred per pint! Yo want some D?". Manifold almost sure that the dealer was wacked out to the point of instability. If that was the case, then Manifold was tempted to deliberately piss him off and allow himself to be murdered as a result. Death was the only path for Manifold at this point. He was alone and would most likely continue to be alone till death. Money wouldn't fill the void. A life of luxury would never change the fact that his family has moved on to the Well of Allsparks. Above all, he was still hated, not only by the entire Autobot population but by himself. A lifetime of spilling innocent energon was nothing compared to the fact that he himself was the reason Deadwind did what he did. Death was all around him; might as well join the party.

"I wouldn't go over there I were you. That guy looks pretty messed up." A voice suddenly called out, startling Manifold. The cell slipped from his grip, landing on the ground as Manifold turned to face the eavesdropper. He was surprised to see a relatively small bot, only twice the size of himself. The stranger was an oddly clad bot, covered in cheap-looking pieces of curved, yellow sheet metal. The ones bolted to his feet were comically large and were mounted with light fixtures that vaguely resembled Incecticon eyes. Black, rubber wrapped wheels were attached to his shoulders and ankles. He had a round face with large optics and a helmet decorated with a tiny pair of "Unicron" horns. On his chest, stamped just underneath a piece of scratched-up, glass paneling, was a faded Autobot sigil.

"What do you want?" Manifold asked, making it obvious the yellow stranger wasn't welcomed.

"You seem upset." The Autobot responded.

"Look, if you want the money, just take it. I don't want it." Manifold handed the Autobot the vault cell. "will you leave now?"

The Autobot took up the box with one hand and opened it. His optics widened when he saw the loot inside. Without consideration, he closed the box and set it on the ground between them. "Should I assume this is the money stolen from the Iacon bank a couple days ago?" The bot casually asked.

"Yeah. What, are you going to turn me in or something?"

"No. One bot already died over this, another doesn't need to."

Manifold was amazed by the Autobot's mercy, but not entirely convinced of his trustworthiness. "Who are you?" Manifold squeaked, not at all trying to hold back the suspicion in his voice.

"Just a guy. But if you want a name, it's Bumblebee." The Autobot grinned. "You can start laughing now. I know it's a bit of a ridiculous name. What's yours?"

For a moment, Manifold thought about giving a fake name, but then considered how pointless it would be. "Manifold." He answered with hesitation.

"Manifold, huh? It's nice to meet your acquaintance. Not meaning to judge, but you're a former Decepticon, right?"

Manifold didn't say anything. He just cupped his hand over his sigil, leaving some of the faded purple to show through his fingers. He looked down at it in longing, briefly forgetting Bumblebee's presence.

Bumblebee's grin faded. He leaned against wall next to Manifold and looked down at the woeful Mini-Con. "The one who died, the bank robber, was he a friend?"

Manifold nodded. "His name's Deadwind, by the way."

"It's rough losing someone close to you, isn't it?"

"He was my only friend."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

Bumblebee turned to look at the horizon where half of Moon Base 2 was visible above the silhouetted towers of Vos. "I want you to come meet some of my friends." Bumblebee said.

"You're an Autobot."

"So?"

"I'm a Decepticon."

"Only former." After a pause, Bumblebee quoted "'Till all are one.' You've heard that before, right?"

"I thought that means 'till all are none'."

"One could see it that way, but it actually means 'till all are together under one flag."

"You want me to be an Autobot?" Manifold groaned, utterly offended.

"Yes."

"You Autobot motherfuckers are the ones who killed Deadwind." Manifold growled.

Bumblebee was hurt. It was obvious there was great deal of mental damage done to the Mini-Con before him. Justification would be difficult. "We're different than the Autobots in the capitol."

"How?"

"Well…Optimus Prime, I guess."

"He's dead."

"Not his ideas."

"You're going to justify the actions of a bot who spearheaded a massive war to wipe out the population of my people?"

Bumblebee thought hard on what to say next. He looked at the drug dealer across the street, still trying to hock his dark energon. Finally, he said "The war is in the past. It was born out of string of complications and misunderstandings that have been lost to history for eons. I can't say which side is at fault, and I don't think anyone else can, but the least we can do try to patch everything up. That's what my team is dedicated to: fixing the damage that we, Autobots and Decepticons, caused together. We hope to unite each side and save our race and our planet. If we can't do it…" Bumblebee shrugged. "then I guess it really is 'till all are none'. We fucked up, all of us. Playing the blame game now will only make things worse. Our only hope is forgivness. So…do you want to join?"

Manifold considered. As much as he hated the Autobot right now, Manifold knew he was right. He briefly looked back during his days as a soldier and the countless atrocities he and his many brothers committed in the name of…what? It was the first time Manifold actually considered the question. It fell on him like lead weight that all this time he had blindly followed Megatron without the slightest clue as to what he was fighting for. "I can't join. I'm a Decepticon."

"If you remove the sigils, were all just Cybertronians." Bumblebee removed something from his side compartment and gave it to Manifold. It was a small, metallic disk with the Autobot symbol etched into it. "For the time being, though, we still need something to unite under. If you ever change your mind, just visit Hot Rod in Altihex. Remember, you're not forgotten."

Without another word, Bumblebee left, leaving Manifold once more. He stood silent under the bridge for several minutes, examining the crumbling buildings and oil stained streets. "This place isn't home. It never was." Manifold told himself. He was sick of this life. Unconsciously, he began to walk. He had no idea where, he just wanted to leave. After walking a few dozen yards, he realized he left the cash behind, but he remembered he didn't need it. It was useless commodity anyways. Maybe the crackhead across the street will make better use of it.

Dusk was upon Vos. The rusted shells of buildings and towers took on a red hue as they were bombarded by the light of the setting sun. By this time the streets started getting more deadly, but that didn't matter to manifold. Life was no longer worth living…right? Manifold watched the sun as it set, giving the moons their familiar, spikey-crescent shape.

Manifold remembered Deadwind. He remembered the final time they spoke and the final time he saw him. As he saw his lifeless and burnt out form lying on the street in his mind's eye, lubricant began to leak from his optics. Manifold wondered if Deadwind ever wanted to be an Autobot or if he ever wanted his Mini-Con to become an Autobot.

For uncounted moments, silence overtook manifold's mind and spark.

These weren't questions for Deadwind. Manifold was alone now. Deadwind was gone. Starscream was gone. Megatron was gone. The entire Decepticon army is gone. Manifold had to make this deciscion for himself. He took out the disk Bumblebee gave him and stared at it until the sun's light completely vanished over the horizon. He studied the symbol he hated his entire life as his mind swarmed questions and memories.

"I've made my decision."

He dropped the disk. It clattered on the ground behind him as Manifold began his journey to Altihex.


End file.
